Mr. Yuan grew up in rural China and currently works as an English tutor in Vancouver, where he co-edits *Poetry Pacific* with Allen Qing Yuan (Poetry submissions to Poetry Pacific welcome at editors.pp@gmail.com).
Sometimes I just wanna retreat, pal
From my position in life, like a soldier
From his in a battlefield. No, not exactly
That would sound like a deserter; rather
I wanna hide myself within the boundary
Of my yellowish skin; better to withdraw
Into the deepest corner in my heart, where I
Don’t have to care whether to sit or stand
Where to look at or put my hands
What to smell, say or hear, a womb-like place
Where I can focus all my attention on my
Inner being, and let my outer self deal with
All the troubles of life, like bills, food, tea
Telephone rings, junk emails, mortgages, etc.
In a word, I wanna find a war-free zone
Where my innerself is absolutely free
Without having to return to the cage
Like the pigeon I really wanna keep
All feelings are sharable, somehow
Except loneliness
Loneliness that drives you into the very depth
Knowingly
Like a caterpillar retreating, hiding itself
In its own cocoon
Where it keeps gnawing at the wall
Until it flies out, like a butterfly
Neither the oldest
Nor the tallest
Not even the thickest
But the only survivor of a whole lost civilization
You have been standing for centuries in my home province
Against all storms and seasons
Among scattered cottages with straw-thatched roofs
Walled with corn-stems, deep in an unknown valley
You were discovered as a living fossil the other day
And ever since then, a park has been expanded
Into a national reserve, where worshippers keep
Coming to pay their homage, where your offspring
Begin their long march into every city
Of the new world, where you are growing
Strong and straight, shading the main streets and
Back lanes, as if to remind all foreigners of
Real dinosaurs and real ice ages
Not unlike me, or my fellow diasporas
No, it was
It is
Not a bird
That has just flown by
In stillness
But a spectre
(in a crow’s shape?)
A whim
(about a crane?)
Or a glyph
(standing for a cuckoo?)
That can actually
Flap away
Neither from your agitated heart
Nor from my meditating mind
Like the butterfly
In a Zhuangzian dream
Come on, jesus
I know you are always busy
Writing your program for
All the lives in the universe
Admit it that you
Simply hate
This code monkey
Business of yours; why
Not quit it tonight, but
Let each fate write its own
Why not come out of your little castle
Walled with biblical pages?
Bored as you are, jesus
Why not just quit it tonight?
